


you are always defying the world, but you’re only a girl.

by owlvsdove



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-11
Updated: 2016-01-11
Packaged: 2018-05-13 06:44:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5698822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlvsdove/pseuds/owlvsdove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jemma goes back to Maveth for their bodies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you are always defying the world, but you’re only a girl.

**Author's Note:**

> SPOILERS for s3, especially the midseason finale. 
> 
> tw: lots of things pertaining to death and dead bodies. 
> 
> this is unbetaed so sorry if it doesn't make any sense

 

Jemma reads _Antigone_ and thinks.

 

 

 

She’s never been too much of a literature girl. Well-rounded, of course—all the classics have been read, enjoyed, analyzed for grade and then sport. But she had a few select favorites, and the rest she could take or leave, preferring the richness she could suck out of good poetry or even the sweet sucker punch of a satisfying song.

When they get back to the base, when they all finally have a moment to collect themselves, off of Zephyr One, out of debrief, alone, Jemma leans back against her bedroom door and her eyes catch on it. A classic.

 

 

 

_Antigone_ is a tragedy that lets you know it’s a tragedy right from the beginning.

Foreshadowing would be too subtle. The Greek chorus reels you in tightly to the story at hand: the children of Oedipus are doomed, and not only are they doomed, but they are poison to their loved ones as well. Fates intertwined, Antigone manages to sentence everyone she cares about to death, just by sticking to her convictions. It feels familiar.

But Jemma never had a Greek chorus.

 

 

 

The two sons of Oedipus fought, loveless and cruel, for the throne and ended up killing each other. The elder one, the sitting King, was given a state burial, attended to by the proper religious rites. The younger one, the rebel guilty of treason, was left out in the sun for the buzzards to pick at. Any attending to his body for burial was punishable by death.

Jemma stays up all night, the ache of exhaustion resting deep in her bones. Jemma reads _Antigone_ and thinks dangerously.

 

 

 

Somewhere between a genuine love and familial duty, Antigone buries her brother.

Somewhere between a love she doesn’t want to believe in and a sense of duty, Jemma draws up plans to go back for their bodies.

 

 

 

She doesn’t know why, but she can’t tell anyone. It bubbles to her lips a million times, but her teeth are the line between truth and lie. Bobbi and Fitz wander around the lab with one eye on her at all times. _It’s okay if you want to take time off_ , May tells her.

Will is not the only one burning a hole through her heart.

_Ward’s dead_ , Coulson had announced, gruff and matter-of-fact, and for some reason, Jemma can’t get the images out of her imagination, their two bodies lying prone in the sand of that prison planet, meters away from freedom, from life. It makes sense, she tells herself, to want to go back for Will. Her mission feels incomplete.

But Ward?

The fiery pit of her stomach tells her the truth: they’re both hers, cursed like she is, doomed like the children of Oedipus. She didn’t used to believe in this kind of thing. She used to laugh in the face of Fate and Destiny and Cosmic Interference.

Now she couldn’t find a laugh to save her life.

 

 

 

In this truncated little world, she is still the most senior ranking member of the Science Division, so it’s not hard to clear out the artifacts room and set up the shards they recovered from HYDRA. She arranges them meticulously with trembling fingers, and it takes twice as long as it would for any sane person. It only increases her odds of being caught. But she can’t bring herself to fear retribution. Not with this much determination singing through her veins. No, her fingers tremble at the prospect of falling down, down, down into that sandy prison once more, sharp and violent and familiar.

This won’t stop her, though. Nothing could stop her now.

The ground starts to rumble in a way that perhaps only Daisy would feel, but it’s too late to wonder. The rope around her waist is wrenched too tight to breathe, so she plummets. Fall, fall, fall. Fast and far away from Earth.

 

 

 

Antigone returns to her house in the morning with dirty hands and an unrepentant air about her, stained with crime but still free.

 

 

 

Will’s body is closer. She waited as long as she could stand, which is only a few days away and a few meters off from the calculated position they were at on the day she lost them. Seeing Will makes her sick. If the rope wasn’t wrapped so tightly around her middle already, she’d be doubled over in pain at his image, torn to shreds and lifeless. Instead, she digs into the pain and yanks hard on one of his arms.

She’s an idiot. He’s twice her size and a literal dead weight. But she pulls him over her like a cape, empty head lolling near hers, empty back over the curve of her spine, empty feet dragging in the sand. The stench of death overcomes her and she gags as she pulls him.

She promised. She promised to get him home. And she can’t afford to break any more promises. The thought of failing makes her scream out as she carries him, long and loud and defiant. Her back, her legs, ache like fire, but she continues.

Suddenly she’s heaving him through the portal and the weight of him carries her down, too. Fall, fall, fall.

 

 

 

No one in the kingdom knows who buried the rebel brother’s body. The king orders security to be tightened, for the body to be uncovered again for the buzzards.

All of her hard work is undone, but Antigone is undeterred.

 

 

 

In the dawn of morning, there is a fresh mound of earth in the courtyard, dug, buried, and covered, right next to Trip’s grave marker. No one notices until mid-morning rounds, after Jemma’s covered her dark circles with makeup again.

Coulson calls an emergency meeting. Someone’s erased the security footage for the base for the entire night. Someone’s died, and someone’s been buried, and nobody knows who’s down there or what’s happened to them.

“I mean...what do we do?” Daisy asks, perplexed. “This is insane.”

“Everyone’s accounted for,” Coulson responds; and that phrase makes Jemma want to scream. Too many people are dead for that to be true. “We’ve triple-checked our headcount. The only thing left to do is dig it up.”

“Wait,” May says suddenly. Jemma’s head swings quickly towards her. “It could be anything. A bomb, a weapon of some sort. If we don’t tread carefully, we could blow ourselves up.”

Coulson considers this, calls for auxiliary staff to evacuate.

Jemma returns to the lab and thinks.

 

 

 

Antigone goes back to the spot where her brother lays, and she goes in broad daylight. Ready to do it all again. Damn the consequences.

 

 

 

“Simmons,” May says gruffly. Bobbi and Fitz, who are devising plans to get the thing out of the ground, whatever it is, clatter to a silent stop. “Coulson wants to consult with you.”

Jemma tries her lion’s best to stay cool and impassive. Nods, climbs down from her stool and follows May out the door.

May’s hand goes tight around her shoulder. Her pace quickens. She takes a survey of the barren hallway and whispers. “We have to get the body out of here.”

Jemma can’t help herself. Her eyes go wide.

May explains herself. “I saw you last night. Burying him.” She starts to shake her head. “You shouldn’t have done that, Jemma. We have to move him.”

“No,” Jemma whispers vehemently. “He belongs here.”

“Nothing’s going to happen to him, I promise,” May says, but she’s not understanding.

“I’m _not_ moving him,” Jemma says, low and hard.

May studies her for a long, airless moment. “You knew you’d get caught.” Jemma doesn’t have to confirm this. May knows. “What exactly was your plan here?”

“I’m going to confess, when it’s all over.”

Something in May’s hard expression drops, sinks, drowns. “It’s not over yet?”

Suddenly Jemma very badly wants to cry. “No,” she whispers.

It’s occurred to her, it has, that she could stop now. She got Will back. She fulfilled her promise. But for some reason, the thought of Ward left there won’t let her sleep.

Understanding crashes over May, and Jemma feels like she’s disappointed her. “Him?”

“He’s just a body now,” Jemma says. “He doesn’t belong there, _no one_ belongs there.”

She can’t breathe while she waits for May to make up her mind. When the moment reawakens, May looks resigned.

“Quickly,” she says. That’s all she says.

Jemma leads her there.

 

 

 

Antigone acted alone. A crusader on a one-woman mission.

Jemma forgets—she forgets all the time—that she is not alone.

 

 

 

May takes to Maveth like she takes to everything—that is, terrifyingly well.

Even with the dust picking up in the wind, it’s not hard to see the mound in this distance that is his body. Jemma taps May’s arm, points, and the two take off in that direction, rope trailing behind them. The wretched scent of death surrounds them once again, and Jemma can see horrible bruising all over his empty body. But May grabs one arm and Jemma grabs the other, and they both hoist him up.

It’s a longer trek this time. They exchange nothing but heavy grunts. And once, May mutters to herself _how did you do this alone_ , but Jemma doesn’t feel well enough to answer.

 

 

 

Antigone is caught burying her brother the second time and is jailed. She kills herself rather than be killed by the state. Her betrothed, the King’s son, kills himself in grief. So does the King’s wife. Three dead, the tragedy is fulfilled, and there’s nothing left in the world except for the king, staring at his hands.

 

 

 

They don’t get caught until Jemma is halfway done digging the grave, Ward’s body covered with a sheet that May grabbed and laid over him. May keeps watch while dirt smears into sweat over Jemma’s arms, neck, face. Grant will lay right next to Will, who is right next to Trip, a line of people that Jemma has failed. The ache in her bones feels righteously deserved.

She doesn’t stop digging when Coulson comes. When Fitz stares in horror, when Daisy figures out who’s under the sheet. She doesn’t stop until she’s done. May helps her lower him down gently, and then she starts up with the shovel again, covering him bit by bit until it’s like nothing ever happened.

They all gather, they all watch. And when there’s not a speck of earth left to move around, finally Jemma looks at them.

From this distance, Coulson looks faceless, expressionless, a tight little knot that blurs in her vision.

“Get back to work,” he orders. For a moment no one dares breathe, and then they all scramble around him, like a bomb has been dropped.

May and Jemma don’t move a muscle.

Coulson walks closer and closer to them. Unconsciously, May shifts slightly in front of Jemma.

Jemma feels so much it just seems like static.

When Coulson lands in front of her, she stops breathing.

“Go take a shower,” he says, as kindly as he can manage.

Jemma blinks in confusion, but there’s a vague sort of regret and understanding coloring the Director’s face that she can’t ignore.

Breathing deeply, she goes to wash herself clean.                      

 

 

 

Somehow, today is not a tragedy.

 

**Author's Note:**

> antigone is brilliant, both the original sophocles play and the jean anouilh play (which is where the title is from) so read them ok byeeee


End file.
